Writer's head on the block
by Nyotarules
Summary: Sooner or later it happens to most fanfic writers...


Disclaimer – If I could claim Star Trek as my own I would

 **Author's Notes**

 **Yeah I know it was bound to happen again sooner or later….**

The writer sat in front of the computer screen, reading the list on her profile. She sighed, "This is what you get when you have too many incomplete stories." The dreaded writer's block had returned, not that she had many creative juices to dry up, compared to other writers on the site. How on earth was she going to get nine stories finished?

"Excuse me, perhaps we can help out." an East African, accented voice appeared on the monitor. The avatar of the beautiful lady turned her head from where she was kissing her companion and smiled sweetly.

The writer jumped up from her seat, screaming and pointing at the haunted equipment.

"Nooooo! This is not real! You're not supposed to do that!" she picked up her mug, sniffing the liquid; perhaps she accidentally, on purpose spiked her own tea with something stronger.

"I assure you, this interruption is not a figment of your imagination." The young man with the square, fringe haircut responded, his accent just as strange but sexy as well.

"I don't believe it, its finally happed. I've gone insane. There are imaginary characters speaking to me."

"We are real as you want us to be." The young lady snapped, "Now, do you want our help or not?"

Taking her seat, the writer nodded her head, too dumb to speak.

"Alright then, how about you work out how much time you can truly commit to each week to writing. Don't worry on how long it will take to complete your stories."

"I know how much time I have, I just need to figure out what happens next in each one." The writer moaned.

"I understand your dilemma," The young man identified as Spock replied. " I see by your story 'The first time', you have arrived at a moment in my history that was truly devastating. Is this why you placed this tale aside?"

"Yeah, you're right. I'm not keen on writing a sad tale, or even a sad chapter. This is going to leave me bawling my eyes out."

"Perhaps you should approach it from a different angle, deal with the aftermath, deal with how the Vulcan people survived and rebuilt." Uhura suggested. "Deal with how proud the Lady Amanda would be of her men."

"That's a good idea," The writer smiled, taking it all in.

"Good, now where were we," The avatar flashed and a new scene came to life. The figures in the 'One night only' avatar started to rock. As curious as the writer was she closed her eyes, writing about sex was one thing, seeing it action with imaginary fictional characters was quite another.

It was time to turn off the computer and…oh no what was that! Another avatar came to life. Another handsome man in a blue shirt knocked on the frame that held him.

"Hey dollface, when you finished with the African Queen and her green boyfriend, hurry up with mine will ya. I've been waiting to get laid since May. That Vulcan you want to hook me up with, it ain't gonna happen. There is no way I would fall in love with Spock in a dress. Hell No! You go fine me some nice human girl! Better still, tell Gaila to get rid of that Tellarite!"

The writer ignored his rantings, as much as she loved this character, she suspected too much of his 'ole southern roots', the parts that weren't so pleasant were ingrained in his head. Maybe she was overly sensitive, being closer in time to the history of the place than he was.

"Greetings, Mistress Rules," an older tenor voice, interrupted her as she was about to click 'power, shutdown'.

"As much as I disagree with the tone of the Doctor's statement I understand his motives. I too have been waiting since your Earth date May 27 2015 for events in my relationship to progress to a satisfactory conclusion."

After apologising profusely and letting the Ambassador know she would grant him his request in 2016, she bent to pull the plug on her haunted machine. Maybe it needed an exorcism.

Another light flashed across her screen, this time the tall handsome figure in uniform, stepped out of the screen.

"Admiral Pike?" the writer gulped, her large dark brown eyes as large as saucers.

"Seria, hey baby, is that you? What you doing here? Where is this place, come back Seria the children miss you. I miss you honey…

 **POWER – SHUT DOWN**

 **THE END**

 **The inspiration for this came from the story 'Interviews' by the late, great Nerdielady (RIP).**


End file.
